


Damaged Cuticle

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Cardassian Diff Design Garak [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Interspecies, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian wakes to an odd sound - Garak has sustained an injury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damaged Cuticle

There is something _dripping_. Julian can hear it, drop into water with a soft sound, and then another, and another, drop by drop by drop. He frowns slightly, pushing himself to sit up in Garak's bed, rubbing at his eyes and frowning slightly.

He'd woken up a little while before, but it had been impossible to get back to sleep when he could keep picking up that _noise._

He reluctantly moves to stand, and he walks sleepily from Garak's bedroom into the next, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand.

“Oh, my dear doctor.” Garak murmurs from his place laid out on the sofa. “You look tired.” He clucks, forked tongue flicking before a chirrup follows, and Julian watches him with a small frown. Garak is naked, and beside him is a bowl of water, a fountain from its left side creating the regular drip.

Garak's left hand is soaking in it.

“I am.” Julian murmurs quietly, and he moves forwards, looking at Garak with a small frown, uncertain. Garak's tongue and tail both flick incessessantly, irritably, but his right hand is still on his chest and is left is still in the wet bowl. “What are you doing?”

He's never seen that bowl in _use_ – he's seen it on Garak's shelf, but given its Cardassian aesthetic, he'd just assumed it was an ornament of some sort. Now, he wonders if all the odd items on Garak's shelves have their uses, ones that Julian doesn't yet know, and he wishes to ask the purpose of each one.

But first? He'll start with the small fountain.

“It's healing the cuticle. I tore a claw today.” Garak says, and Julian raises an eyebrow.

“ _You_ tore?” He repeats skeptically, and Garak feigns innocence.

“A claw was torn.” Garak amends – once more, he fails to elaborate on the _how_ , and for now Julian will drop it, but he will ask Odo about what incidents had gone on that day.

“Right.” Julian says, and he moves forwards, sliding to sit beside Garak, leaning forwards and peering with some interest at the water. Now that he looks more closely, he realizes it's tinged green, and it smells sweet. He inhales, leaning closer, but Garak pulls him back.

“Don't do that.” He says patiently, for once without some sharp word or another, teasing or no.

“Why not?” Julian asks, regarding him thoughtfully, and Garak's lips twitch.

“Because I said so.” Garak's spare hand moves to Julian's lower back, drawing slow circles on the richly coloured skin there, dragging his claws oh-so-pleasantly over the vulnerable flesh. “It will cause damage to your sensitive lungs, perhaps. If it does not do that, it will certainly affect you with a _high._ ”

“A high?” Julian repeats, frowning. “What is it?”

“A herb, my dear. Just a herb.”

“What he-”

“It stimulates growth and healing. I always find that the dermal regenerators _irritate_ the flesh around my claws.” Garak says, and Julian moves his face closer to Garak's, examining his expression with a curiosity he does not bother to decide. Garak, usually, sees his emotions much as he tries his best to hide them.

“Really? How so?” Garak's eyelids flutter, and Julian glances at the fountain bowl again, examining it with some interest without putting his face too close to the scented water – the small tap curves up from the bowl, and Julian can't help but wonder how the cycle of the water helps – to aerate it, perhaps?

He leans back, and then slowly he moves to straddle Garak's stomach, leaning down and pressing a few kisses down the length of the other's chest, dragging his tongue over where he knows the other's sternum lies.

Garak doesn't answer the question: it is met with continued silence, but Julian pushes no complaint. He lets it be, and continues to drag his lips over the other's flesh, feels Garak let out quiet sighs and arch his back.

“How long?” Julian asks softly, and he is certain his breath is delightedly warm against the other's flesh, because Garak lets out a chirped purr, drawn out.

“Just another hour or so. And then, perhaps I shall go to work. Or, _perhaps_ , I'll work on something else.” Garak murmurs, dragging the tip of his tail up Julian's back, beside his spine. It feels good, the pressure, the dig at his flesh, and he leans into it with a quiet grunt.

“Oh, yes? What on?” Julian asks, and his voice is somewhat more strained that he'd really care to admit.

“I have the most enchanting hobby, you see, Doctor Bashir. It involves a curiously handsome young medical professional on the station.” Garak murmurs, looking up at Julian and pretending, very convincingly, that he isn't tired and that his claw doesn't hurt. “I thought I might play with him for a time.”

Julian pauses for a few moments as Garak's tail continues to play over his shoulder blades, and then trace down his spine once more.

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Garak frowns, brow furrowing, and for a moment he looks almost offended. “I think I should retrieve a blanket from the other room, and curl my body against yours, and leave the playing until later.” He meets the Cardassian's eyes and he lets his lips curl into a promising smirk. “I've booked a holosuite.”

“Oh, have you now?” Garak chuckles, amused, and when Julian disappears and returns with the blanket he allows Julian to press against his chest, curling his tail about the bottom of Julian's foot.

“Are you going to tell me what the plant is called, Garak?”

“I should think it will be a good exercise for you to do some independent research.”

“A no, then.”

“Perhaps if you were to offer me sufficient incentive, my dear, I might consent to give you information in return.” Julian rests his head on the curved ridge of Garak's chest, knowing full well the pressure would draw that particular choked tut from the Cardassian's mouth.

“And what incentive, pray, would that be?”

“If I told you that, why, however would you learn?”

“I ought be creative, then.” Julian murmurs, and his hands slide down, slowly, his palms stroking over the other's flesh, lower, until they press against his thighs, his thumbs pressing hard into the ridges there. Garak breathes in, harshly.

“Aren't we to leave this until later?” Garak teases, and Julian laughs, pulling his hands back and chuckling a little more as Garak's nostrils flare with irritation.

“Yes, of course, Garak. You're quite right.”

“When I have both of my hands in order, Doctor, I'm going to give you quite a spanking.” Garak mutters, and a red heat comes to Julian's cheeks, affecting the skin to tingle. “Oh, Julian.” The other man says, looking at his flushed cheeks with an expression of plain satisfaction. “We really should learn to control our vasodilation, lest we, _well_ ,” Garak's tail whips forwards, and Julian lets out a strangled moan as it slaps against his backside, the smack hard even through the blanket. “give ourselves away?”

“Seven PM in the holodeck, _sharp._ ” Julian says, and Garak chuckles.

“Why yes, my dear.” He murmurs affectionately. “Of course.”


End file.
